Authors' Note: I do not own BtVs or AtS, they are solely the property of Joss Whedon &etc.
Okay, I wrote down this story on a whim. The idea just jumped out at me out of nowhere, but I liked it. The chapters will vary in size a lot, but I'll try to balance it out. Oh, and (for my own writing convenience) Darla won't return. Hate to mess with a good storyline, but it complicates things too much.

The first thing Buffy felt when she woke up was fabric; soft, velvet fabric. The first thing she smelled was something like rotting flesh. The first thing she heard was scratching, and the first thing she tasted was bitter. Her first thought was about what she was wearing.

'My God, I do not do black. Who put me in black? Someone is going to pay for this.'

The last thing Buffy remembered she had been discussing the dance with her friends at Hemery, she figured she must have blacked out. Maybe this was some kind of practical joke Jeffrey was playing on her. He always did have a warped sense of humour.

Buffy noted that she was trapped in what seemed to be a wooden box; the lining caressing her face was velvet and the box itself was about a foot larger than she was. Outside was silent aside from the uneasy scratching and she wondered where she was. The box smelled horrible, like something had died in it. One of her friends - Cassandra, she thought it was - had a dad who made coffins. Maybe they'd rigged her up in one as a joke.

'Man, I am going to kill Jeffrey,' she thought. Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Buffy rapped on the wood above her. "Okay guys! Ha ha, very funny!" she laughed uneasily, "You can let me out now!"

With no response but the scratching on the outside of the box, Buffy began to panic. "Okay guys! Seriously! This isn't funny!" she knocked on the wood again and again, raising her voice to a yell. "GUYS, LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW. I THINK THE AIR IS RUNNING OUT."

'Oh, crap.' She was going to have to break her way out of this thing. Was she strong enough to break her way out? She scratched manically on the velvet brushing her face and dug her shortened and less polished nails into the wood fibres above it.

"You guys cut my nails?" she screeched. "Cassandra, are you there too? I'm going to kill you guys!"

Digging into the wood fibres, Buffy found that they crumbled easily under her grasp; the box must have been rigged for an easy escape.

Expecting rays of light to pour in or at the very least fresh air, Buffy was choked by an avalanche of dirt that poured through the hole into the box as well as her mouth and eyes. The box shifted and she was stuck on a diagonal slant. Now she was really scared.

She was in a coffin. The thought circled in her mind as she choked and spluttered on the dirt and tried to breathe.

Doing what her instincts told her, Buffy shoved herself headfirst through the hole that she had made and, placing her feet on the bottom of the makeshift coffin and thinking sadly of what the dirt would do to her hair, used all of her strength to propel herself towards the surface. Temporarily fearing that someone had buried her upside down she was relieved by the weight of the dirt easing off of her shoulders as she felt wind brush her hand as it surfaced just before the rest of her.

Still terrified, the fifteen year old girl pulled herself out of the dirt. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she savoured the feeling of the ground underneath instead of on top of her. Digging her nails into the dirt once more she placed her cheek on the cool green grass and choked out relieved gasps. That was the most traumatic thing she had ever experienced. Except for that time someone asked her if she had gotten her shoes second hand.

Okay, second most traumatic.

Standing up, Buffy realised two things:

One: It was night time.

Two: her eyesight hadn't been clouded by the dirt, it had been impaired. Even with the fresh air all around her and tears streaming down her face washing away all of the dirt, she was still half blind.
With absolutely no idea what to do Buffy called out to her parents, hoping desperately that they were nearby.

"Mom?" she called. "Dad?"

No response.

"Joyce? Hank?"

Still no response.

"Anyone?" Her voice was hoarse and it sounded different to her. Older, maybe? Looking down she noticed that she was also taller, if only marginally. She was skinnier, too. Not malnourished, but matured. How long had she been in that box?

Trying to analyse her location (which would have been difficult even without her crappy geography grade), Buffy removed the high heels hurting her ankles and looked around. All that she saw in her periphery were trees, and in front of her she could see a forest with flames fanning out on the horizon. This definitely didn't feel like L.A.

Noticing something small in the grass, Buffy laid her eyes on what appeared to be a tomb stone.

'Buffy Anne Summers,

Beloved daughter and friend,

She saved the world

A lot

1981 - 2001'

Crouching down onto her knees, Buffy brushed her fingers against her name and felt her chest tighten with fear.

"Okay!" she yelled. "I get it! Big joke! Now someone TELL ME WHAT I'M DOING HERE!"

A thousand unanswered questions swirled in Buffys' head. Why did it say it was 2001? As far as she knew it was 1996. Why did it say she was dead? And WHY did it say that she had 'saved the world a lot'? That was ridiculous. Saved the world from what? Fashion victims? Sure, she did her bit, but she hadn't saved the world. There were still plenty of badly dressed girls out there for her to help.

Beginning to hyperventilate, Buffy paced around her apparent grave and tried to decide on a course of action. What was she going to do?

"Where am I?" she asked the forest.

Stumbling through trees for several minutes, Buffy eventually found a road and managed to flag down a taxi. "Take me to L.A.," she told the driver as she jumped in.

"L.A.? That's quite a distance, you sure you can pay?" the pretty brunette taxi driver asked her.

"Distance? Where am I?"

"Sunnydale."

"Never heard of it."

The lady laughed good-naturedly – something that was definitely out of character for people in L.A., "Well that's a problem, seeing as you're there." Eyeing the shoes still in Buffys' hand, she said, "Look, I'll take you to the bus depot and give you fare to get to L.A. if you give me those shoes."

"Great!" Buffy grinned, handing over the shoes with gusto. This must have been a weird town, if taxi drivers would accept shoes as payment. "So, what's Sunnydale?" she asked.

Apparently Sunnydale was a town famed for odd occurrences and high mortality rates. Amy, the taxi driver, told her that she had only been living in Sunnydale for a few months but assured her that leaving as soon as possible was the right thing to do.

"This place is weird. The houses are cheap, the pay is good and for the most part the people are nice, but..." she paused, shuddering, "It's just a messed up place. Bad things happen and there's no discrimination: bad things happen to everyone."

"Yeah, I get that vibe," from the fact that I woke up in a coffin. Hoping she didn't sound too crazy, Buffy hesitantly asked what year it was.

"2001 sweetie," the taxi driver grinned; Buffy seemed to amuse her more than anything. "So what's with the crazy geddup? S'not Halloween yet, y'know."

"Uh, funeral," Buffy replied uncertainly.

The taxi driver obviously didn't want to touch on a sensitive subject and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

Once they arrived at the depot the driver gave Buffy bus fare and instructions on how to get herself to L.A. Buffy thanked the girl and waited at the bus depot for the 363 to arrive.

Buffy resented the time she spent waiting for the bus and begged it to come sooner, there was only so much time she could spend thinking about this. It was 2001. Where had all those years gone?

And why didn't she remember them?

[]

Angel stood near Fred uncomfortably, dreading the speech he was going to have to make. "Fred, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," he seated himself next to her.

"Uh-huh. Okay," Fred closed her book and looked at Angel hopefully. Noticing the look on Angels' face, she broke the silence. "Is this about how you're not like other men, what with that curse and all, and how you're really fond of me but that's as far as it goes?"

Angel was inwardly pleased that he didn't have to stutter through the whole awkward speech himself. "Um...Yeah."

"Cordelia explained it to me," Fred elaborated, "She said you'd probably just screw it up," she smiled.

"She did, did she?" he joked, then admitted sombrely; "Well, she's probably right."

Looking down, Fred sighed. "What?" Angel asked.

"It's like something out of Fitzgerald: the man who can have everything but love," she said wistfully. "Well, maybe in some ways you're better off, because love is... Well, in a way it's everything. It's also heartache and disappointment... And those are good things to avoid."

Angel then realised that he had never mentioned Buffy to Fred. After a pregnant pause he began with, "You know, I loved a girl once."

"R-Really?" Fred asked, trying to sound politely interested.

"Yeah."

"Who is she?"

"She was a Slayer."

"Was?" Fred enquired, then realised embarrassedly, "Oh, you mean she's..."

Angel looked down, his brow creasing and his shoulders hunching, "She died a few months ago. That's why I – why I left so suddenly."

"Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, for your loss..."

The two sat in silence before Fred plucked up the courage to ask Angel what her name was.

"Buffy."

First chapter posted!
The last scene is from Carpe Noctum, only instead of Cordelia running out and informing Angel that Buffys' alive he decides to Fred that she exists.

If you liked it, let me know; review? :D
Thanks for reading!